


Touch The Heart

by restorick



Category: The Professionals
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-25
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-27 14:49:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/restorick/pseuds/restorick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doyle meets Esther again</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch The Heart

Touch The Heart 1987 

 

A quarter of an hour after sitting down Doyle was still waiting, increasingly annoyed by his partner’s absence. On half standing to look out into the street, a menu appeared from over his shoulder and a feminine voice interrupted his reverie. “Peking Duck very good, sir.”

“I’ll wait for my mate. He’s just parking.” He sat. 

As Doyle took the menu, the slim-fingered hand delivering it quickly withdrew. “No parking round here. You order now.” 

He didn’t turn to look at the impatient waitress. She was probably annoyed that he was taking up one of the best tables in the house without sign of a companion. “Then the idiot will be walking back. Sorry, I’ll order when he gets here.” He opened the velvet-bound bill of fare and began to peruse, stalling for time. Well, Bodie had reserved this particular table at one of Chinatown’s best eateries. He was quite comfortable there and didn’t fancy taking on a determined waitress over his friend’s bad planning. Bodie could take the flak when he finally turned up.

“This table for couples, sir. Man and woman. Please, I find you another...or you order Peking Duck.” The woman’s hand reappeared and tugged at the menu, her tone insistent that he move or eat an expensive dish, to compensate. 

Doyle held on, stubbornly. “Hang on a mo...” Why Bodie had stipulated this table, in a restaurant that mainly the Chinese community would usually frequent, only the man himself knew; but Doyle still wasn’t happy about moving. Convinced that he’d meet a middle aged Asian matriarch, Doyle swivelled in his seat. The woman was, to his delight, tall and shapely. But that was all he could make out clearly, as she was in the shadow of an embroidered screen which shielded this booth from the remainder of the restaurant, presumably, the reason it was reserved for couples. “Okay.” Doyle reassessed his reply, quickly. “What say, if he’s not here in the next five minutes, you join me, instead?”

There was the hint of an amused out-breath, and the voice changed through a smile. “Only if you order Peking Duck. I thought you like picking at anything Chinese...?” Now he recognised the voice. And that perfume drifting down, floral and heady, sparked memories of raven hair, almond eyes, a wickedly sinuous body. Doyle shook his head but the sense of her was still there. The familiar voice was amused by his reaction. “Bodie isn’t coming back, Ray. You’ll have to make do with me.” 

 

Her clothing rustled, the black dress and lightly golden skin contrasting as the figure moved into the light. Still sitting, stunned and speechless, Ray Doyle took her in; shapely bare legs in heels matching a dress of black silk, its sheen changing with the light and movement, sleeveless arms with hands clasped before her. He scanned upward to a modest cleavage exhibiting a large, single pearl which hung from her elegant neck. His eyes lingered there, noting how her hair skimmed the contours of her collar bones, just as his fingers had once done. At last he reached her face; passively amused, hiding that hint of nerves which her hands were giving away, lips pursed, eyes shining and brows raised in gentle question. “Well?”

“You’ve cut your hair,” was the first thing Doyle could summon. He was thinking out loud, as he noted both constancy and change in the young woman he’d known nearly seven years before. Esther’s long hair was now shoulder length and cut into a crisp bob and fringe. The style made her look classy and city-smart, the blue-black strands as glossy as her dress. 

She smiled more openly and dropped her anxious hands. “But you haven’t, I’m pleased to see.”

Doyle stood, stepped out of the booth and reached for the Hong Kong Police Sergeant who he’d lived with for a rainy English month, while working together on a drugs case. It had been an unexpected interlude within the disguise of their undercover personas, a meeting of minds as well as bodies. They’d enjoyed a happy time; their characters, humour and outlook alike; the seeming cultural differences already familiar and the sex had been fantastic. 

But all had ended with the operation; she tearfully flew home and Doyle went back to his own life and usual ways. With Esther more than six years younger, he’d manfully told her that cops weren’t allowed to cry but had found himself regretting a missed opportunity, for some while afterward. They’d stayed in intermittent contact over the years, but actual meetings had always been thwarted and the Suzie Wong-style hotel in Wan Chai District, they’d imagined, was no more than that – a thought.

“Esther...” Saying her name was so unexpected, Doyle had to swallow. Two minutes earlier he’d felt like bawling Bodie out for leaving him high and dry; now he could hardly speak. She gave him her hand and Doyle moved closer, leaning toward her lips but Esther subtly averted and he met her cheek. He kissed it, lightly. Fair enough, they’d not seen each other in a long while and, although she’d obviously organised this meeting, he couldn’t expect to instantly resume their former closeness. Her perfume was making him feel giddy or maybe it was the surprise. He was getting too old, for this; the two of them could’ve thought of how it might affect his heart. She’d been prepared, he hadn’t.

“Shall we sit down, or are you really going to look for Bodie?”

Doyle smiled, turning away from his seat and guided Esther into it. He took the other side of the table, using the time to compose himself but still not sure how he felt. He looked into those eyes. “No thanks. Think I’ve got a much better looking dinner companion, right here. He’ll keep, but I’m still gonna kill the son-of-a...”

“Ray! Don’t be mad with him, he only did what I asked him to.”

“Really? Bodie being helpful?”

“Really. I asked nicely.” She smiled, wickedly.

“You want to be careful, sweetheart. He’s still not ‘had a Chinese bird...’”

The humour, teasing and irreverent, was like turning back several pages; no, several chapters. Doyle realised how much he’d missed this, missed her. But should he have called her ‘sweetheart’? Then it hit him. “How are you here? When...when did you get here?”

Esther laughed, leaning forward and covered his questioning hand with hers. “One thing at a time! Let’s eat. Shall I order?” she asked, as a waiter hovered by the screen. Doyle picked up the menu from the table between them, tilted his head in agreement and sat back to enjoy a master class. He was somewhat relieved, despite being a seasoned gourmet of Oriental cuisine, as this place was truly authentic and well beyond the regular ‘Doyle Good Food Guide’. Mesmerised, he couldn’t take his gaze from her mouth. Catching a few familiar words of Cantonese, as Esther rattled off her request without resorting to the printed word, the majority largely passed Doyle by. The young man left them.

“It’s only just evening, so I thought, Dim Sum – okay?”

“Ohhw! No ‘picking’ at something Chinese?”

“Be serious, Ray! Oh, of course, you can’t!” 

“Come on...” He gestured, openly. “I’m always serious.” It was coming back; that spark, that intimacy. She couldn’t deny it, now.

 

“Ganbei.” Esther toasted, offering her glass.

“Yum sing.” Doyle adversely chinked, grinning.

His companion tutted, rolled her eyes and drank. “Really should drink tea with Dim Sum, you know.”

“Oh, this Chinese stuff isn’t that bad. Anyway, it’s a celebration.”

“Perhaps one bottle won’t get us thrown out. Tea later, though. Mustn’t buck tradition; we’ll have years of bad luck, if we do.”

“Can’t have that. Tea, it is.” 

The array of dumplings and rolls, shiny amid the steam rising from their baskets, looked and smelled delicious. He followed her lead, asking the filling of each small parcel, as Esther deftly selected for herself. Usually at home with traditional chopsticks, Doyle felt cack-handed and fumbled his choice more than once. His earlier questions hung in the air between them but, as the wine and food did their work, both relaxed and the mood grew warmer.

He decided to try a different tack. “I got the message, last time you were over.”

“Typical, eh? I get another secondment here and you’re undercover.”

“Called you in Hong Kong, once I was back. A bloke answered.”

“Ah, yes. A friend.”

“At seven a.m., your time? And again at New Year?”

“Mine or yours?”

“Yours, early February, wanted to wish you, ‘Gong hey’...err...” Doyle screwed up his eyes, trying to remember.

“‘Fat choi’. Sorry, didn’t hear about that one.”

“A friend who didn’t want me to speak to you...close friend?”

“Might’ve been. But we Chinese all sound the same to you Westerners.” 

“Not if I’m expecting you to answer.”

“I was over last year, too. But in Manchester and only a week, for a conference. Didn’t want to disturb you.” Esther pulled a ‘sorry’ face.

“You wouldn’t have! Conferences, as well? Flying high, Miss Lee! Missed again, huh?”

“Transcontinental ping pong.”

“Revolving door. Ships in the night. But we seem to have broken the spell now; how long are you here for?”

“Another week, depending on the Met. It’s not so much a secondment, as a long interview.” She took a deep breath. “They’re forming a Unit: People Trafficking.”

Doyle whistled, in genuine appreciation. “Yeah, I heard about it, Cowley’s been involved. Triads taking a new direction, are they?”

“Looks like it, and with my background...”

“That’s pretty tough stuff, but you’re a shoo-in. Can’t fail.”

“You have similar experience, too; we might have to work together again.” She warned.

“Well, that’s it!” Doyle threw his hands up in mock horror. “I’m going back on the beat; I’ll take your place in Hong Kong!”

Esther laughed, wagging her chopsticks in reproach. “Thanks for the confidence! You might need to wish me luck anyway; Mr Cowley’s given me a reference. Is that good or bad, d’you think?”

“The old man’s pretty fair, that way. He’d not do it unless he thought you were worth using ink for! If you get it, that mean you’re staying put for a while?

“Can’t commute from Hong Kong, can I ?”

“No. I’m still in Chelsea, that’s a lot closer, B ‘n’ B always available...”

“It’s lovely seeing you again, Ray, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Things are complicated.”

“Ah. Well, there are Dim Sum left. I have all the time you need.”

“Not now. Let’s just enjoy this.”

 

They caught up with edited news that hadn’t made it to Christmas cards and, for Esther, the fuller story behind Doyle’s near-fatal shooting. The irony, that an Asian girl had pulled the trigger, wasn’t lost on either of them but it was so long ago that Doyle had left all the bitterness behind him. The trans-agency grapevine worked so well that Esther had heard rumours about the injury’s legacy. He assured her that he was fine by citing the fact that he was still fully operational in his late thirties. Apparently, Bodie had already confirmed Doyle’s fitness, despite referring to his partner as ‘The Old Boy’, but encouraged Esther to meet him so she could see for herself. 

This hinted at Esther’s being in London for a while and she admitted that she’d arrived two weeks previously. Doyle scolded her gently for not contacting him earlier. Esther countered that she’d been busy and, with the passage of time and near misses, hadn’t been sure what to do until she met Cowley to discuss her reference and that had spurred her into phoning Bodie.

She was living in a Met-owned flat, for the time being, and it sounded like the Trafficking Unit was a cert, if she could hold her nerve with the entrenched police view of not only a woman, but a Chinese woman, being considered. Doyle railed, briefly, at the chauvinistic and blinkered attitude of his ex-employers, but knew that Esther could handle herself. So he climbed down from his self-erected soapbox in the face of her indulgent expression, not wanting to spoil their time together. 

 

As Doyle watched Esther preside over the tea things, he wavered between feeling the intervening years hadn’t changed her at all and yet that she had altered. Always astute and brave, time and life seemed only to have improved the young woman who had matured into someone elegant and poised. He had to remind himself that she was no longer the twenty-five year old who’d cried buckets in his arms at Heathrow and that he couldn’t know every moment of her days since their parting, just as she didn’t know his. What she might be thinking about him finally occurred and Doyle found that this mattered to him more and more, as the evening went on.

Her expert hands moved through the simple but meaningful ritual and she poured for him first. Doyle knew this was not only practical but also a sign of respect and graciousness. He also knew the correct response; tapping his first two, curved fingers on the table in thanks. As Esther looked up from pouring her own tea, the inscrutability became a smile. He’d pleased her enormously with this compliment, this connection to her culture which, no matter how ‘Westernised’ she was, would always be at the core of her. 

The green tea was infused with something fragrant, jasmine, Esther informed him, and conversation became quieter and more reflective. Remembering good times from years before, they talked about Bodie and the wider circle of CI5 operatives she’d met, but the inevitable news that some were no longer alive, brought the pair to a stand still. The waiter reappeared and Esther nodded that they’d have more hot water for tea.

When it arrived Doyle took charge, preparing just as he’d seen Esther do and then poured her tea first. He was making apology, his regret for the past.

She smiled sadly, tapping in thanks and then touched his hand as the bowl was presented. “There’s no need, Ray. I understood why you were a bit distant with me, at the end. I understand even better, now.”

 

As Doyle was helping Esther into her jacket, the owner appeared and a jokey conversation ensued between them. Doyle looked on, questioningly.

“Mr Zhang asked if we enjoyed our ‘afternoon tea’,” she explained.

Doyle nodded to the restaurateur and dragged up from memory what he hoped was an appropriate phrase of thanks. The man looked pleased and switched to English. “I hope our Dim Sum have worked their magic,” he laughed, winking exaggeratedly. 

“Magic?” Doyle asked.

Esther was colouring. “He’s referring to what it means.” When her companion merely waited for the answer, she continued, coyly. “Dim Sum, ‘touch the heart’.” She avoided his eyes, thanked the restaurant owner and was through the door to the street, before Doyle could say another thing. 

 

Catching up to Esther as she stood on the pavement, Doyle took her by the waist and, when she didn’t respond, turned her to face him. She was clasping her hands again; he took them and drew her into him. Hesitant, at first, she yielded as he kissed her, long and softly.

“I think the Dim Sum have worked their ‘magic’; don’t you? I’ve missed you, Esther.”

“Me, too.”

“You didn’t need to do all this.” He indicated the restaurant. “You could’ve just turned up.” 

“Times have changed, you know. A woman of substance can spoil a man, these days.”

“Now I really feel old!”

Esther pushed her fingers through the streaks of grey at Doyle’s temples. “No, you haven’t changed. You’re every bit as devilish, only more...distinguished.”

“And I remember why I’ve missed you!” 

She avoided the next kiss but stayed in his arms. “Ray, I can’t. I should go.”

“Then, what is this?” Doyle insisted, kissing her forehead. “Why bring me to dinner?” He moved to peck her nose “Just come back with me, now” then lingered at Esther’s lips.

“Believe me, I didn’t expect this to happen. Just wanted to catch up, see you were okay.” 

She was holding back, for some reason. He hugged her, uneasy but accepting. “Okay. But can I at least see you again, before you go?”

“You’ve got a week, if CI5 allows! But, if I get the job, I’ll be back as soon as things are sorted in Kowloon. The Met are keen to get this going.”

“Yeah, but why waste any time? No more misses or ships in the night.” Kissing again, it became deeper, renewing their memory. 

“Ray...” Esther’s palms were on his chest, pressing reluctantly. “Ray, I have things to...I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes.”

“There’s no one special, if that’s what you mean. ‘Spect Bodie told you that!”

“Only when I asked him. He’s much less nosy, these days, isn’t he?”

Doyle drew back, making a choking noise in his throat. “Are you sure that was Bodie?”

She smirked. “Yes. I saw him last week.” 

“You met; when?” he asked suspiciously, apparently distracted by stroking some hair from her face, exposing her ear and neck.

“Wednesday afternoon. For an hour. I had tea and he had a double espresso. Said he needed to keep awake. Anything else you want to know?” Came back, archly.

“The lying b...! He said he had the dentist; thought that was fishy!”

“A white lie, for me...my idea.” Her face grew serious.

“So, you won’t say ‘no’ to meeting again,” Doyle ventured, searching her eyes.

“Yes...I mean, no.” 

“Why waste time, then?” he mumbled, brushing one perfect, pearl-spiked ear with his lips, pausing to breathe her in, then trailing his mouth to her neck.

“Oh, Ray...I want to, it’s just...”

“Complicated. You said.” Now he’d kissed her mouth, he wanted to kiss the rest of her, too.

“And if I don’t get the job and we’ve...I can’t go through that, again.”

“Mmm?”

“Having you, then...” she gasped, as he found her earlobe, sucking the tender flesh and globe of the earring into his mouth.

“Mmm-mmm...” Doyle murmured, letting them slide out with a soft plopping sensation. 

The thump on his chest was unwilling, yet heartfelt. “...having to walk away, when our jobs make us.”

Despite the persuasion tactics, he had been listening and sensed that he should surrender. “So...we’re both going home, alone.” 

“For now, Ray. Let’s see what happens.”

They hugged, still and welded together, each trying to ignore his erection.

 

\--oo0oo-- 

 

Esther had arrived at the dingy Lambeth flat, let herself in and been standing, thinking of Ray Doyle, for some minutes when the telephone’s ringing brought her back. She found herself looking stupidly at the bunch of keys in her hands as if they were making the racket. It could be Ray. She kicked off her shoes, dropped her bag on one chair and sat in the other, picking up the receiver in the same movement. Just about to speak his name, Esther heard the unmistakable pause of a long distance call. Her heart sank. It was either her parents or Him.

“Hei!” she rapped, culture-shifting effortlessly, although her breathing had suddenly elevated. As the pause ticked over, checking her watch gave a clue as to who it might be. Quarter to five in the morning, Hong Kong time; David. The call clicked in.

The stream of questioning, then complaints, followed by anger, obscenities and threats was just what Esther had expected. She’d explained and apologised before leaving. Then warned the caller, last week, of the actions she was taking, despite being 6,000 miles away and today had been the conclusion. In reality it was just another round of this painful and unnecessary fighting. The final round, when she was determined that her parents would finally see her point of view and David would burn himself out.

Weary of the non-stop assault from the other end of the line, Esther restated the facts to her ex-fiancé, the slight time lag allowing her to ignore his interruptions. “I told you this would happen...Yes, I changed the locks...Yes I can, it’s my flat. Your things are in storage...The key is with the solicitor...David, it’s over. I told you why and said I’m sorry...No, they’re not going to persuade me. This is my life and my choice and I won’t change my mind...I’m sorry, David, but that’s the way it is...This is getting us nowhere. I’m hanging up, now. ‘Bye.” 

Esther shakily replaced the receiver, slumped back in the armchair and put her face in her hands, breathing deeply. She had just been called ‘a dried up spinster who no man would waste his time on’ but now, no tears would come, they were all spent and she felt decisive, in control again. As in control as earlier that evening, springing a surprise on her past lover. Though, only until Raymond Doyle’s masculine wiles had kicked in; that would have shown David how desirable she could be. And God, she’d been reminded how dangerously sexy Ray was! 

She wasn’t burning bridges for him but he could be part of her new life, at least in the short term. And she was certain that he would always be a friend. Who knew what might happen? She’d wanted him so much outside the restaurant. Wanted to slip her hands inside the unbuttoned top of that shirt and for him to kiss her, over and over. She’d only had to say ‘yes’ and they’d be in bed together, now. But was that a wise thing to do with David behaving this way at the end of their engagement? Damn it! Wise or not, a fling or relationship, short or long, she didn’t care, by then. What would be, would be and she felt able to deal with anything, as long as she could feel Ray’s lips and hands on her body again. And soon.

 

The phone was answered on the second ring. He sounded alert. Was he expecting a call?

“Ray?”

“Esther. You sound strange, you okay?”

“Yes.” Was the definite reply, as she let out a huge, cleansing breath. “Just feeling a bit foolish. I don’t want you thinking that I set out to seduce you, tonight, only to be a tease.”

There was a trace of amusement and, maybe, relief at the other end of the line. “Never crossed my mind, sweetheart. So, what’s up?” Doyle’s voice was now expectant.

“Can I have your exact address? I need to see you...now. Oh, that’s if...”

“Quite alone.”

“So, is that okay? I mean...”

“Stay right there, I’m coming to you.” She could hear movement and keys jangling. 

Her smile was wide as all the worry dissolved. “It’s not as smart as Chelsea. You sure?” 

“Very.” He was smiling, too, she could tell. “Can’t have an exotic visitor wandering around this big bad city late at night.” A grunt and she imagined Ray shrugging his jacket on. “Even if she is a high-flying copper. Be there in twenty...No, make that ten.”


End file.
